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2013.07.26 - Not Enough Scotch In The World
The skies over New York are over-run with clouds, but they are playing a part in keeping the sun from beating down and heating things up like last week. It's been noticeably cooler even though it's been in the low 80s, and the tempers have broken and calmed along with the heat. Fern is running an errand for Anita on her day off, delivering a little Anita Bella box at an abode on the Upper East Side. After a quick chat with one of Justin Hammer's hired goons, the little waitress is on her way again, trotting lightly down the path to let herself out the ornate garden gate onto the city sidewalk. Her hair is held back, mostly, into a pony tail, but she can never tame all the little strands that frame her face. Brown sandals pad lightly, and her sundress is in matching earth tones, the fabric gauzy and flowing, like a garden fairy. As she exits she turns, making sure the gate latches closed behind her. There's a reason all the high end shops brought their stores over to the Upper East Side -- it means that the riche, nouveau or olde, don't have to go too far for their Armani, Versace, and Manolo fixes. It might be in the middle of a work day, but Warren has taken a long lunch...as he had no meetings scheduled, it was a Friday, and, for once, it wasn't sweltering. He already has some shopping bags dangling from his arm as he saunters down the sidewalk, talking to himself. At least, that's what it always looks like when one has a bluetooth headset and is on a call. If he gets any strange looks, he pretty much ignores them...or glares right back through his sunglasses. As he passes one of the large homes, he actually stops in his tracks. He recognizes that hair...and that frame. "I'll call you back," is managed as the call is ended and he just sort of freezes. A good pull, then a quick push, and Fern is assured that she's leaving the house secured. She knows Justin's been a little jumpy lately. Turning in a light flutter of skirt, Fern doesn't even take a step, halted by the vision feet away. Even without the unmistakable wings, she knows the face well even with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. "Warren." While she's surprised, she's not quite as immobile as the wealthy young man, and she steps forward with an uncertain smile. "Hi. How are you?" At least he didn't immediately take to the sky upon seeing her. That's promising, right? Angel isn't hard to miss with the wings. It sort of gives him away unless he chooses to hide them which is rare nowadays. While there is the thought to immediately take off, that seems awfully cowardly. "Hi," is offered as the earbud is pulled from his ear and stuffed into a pocket. "Does it really matter how I am? I mean, are you just being rhetorical? Because we don't really need to do the whole 'fake nice' thing." The words might sting some, but Fern takes them in stride, not letting him put her off so easily. "It matters to me. I'm sure I could do fake nice easily, but this isn't." She regards him from her shorter position, head tilted slightly, holding on the sunglasses as if she could see his eyes behind them. "If you'd rather I walk past and pretend not to know you, I can. I just don't want to." "Yet this is the first time in how many months that you've asked me that question? Oh, wait...I bet my number just deleted itself off of your phone. Is that it?" These feelings might have been a bit pent up. Just a bit. He takes a deep breath before he offers a sigh, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that, but..." there's another breath. "I'm fine." It's said as one would even if they weren't 'fine'. "Three months," Fern says quietly, not pointing out that phones work both ways. "I didn't want to force you to talk to me." There's a bare shake of her head, "Don't be sorry, it's alright." Her eyes finally leave his face, drifting down to take in the bags he's lugging with him. "It sounds like you're just saying that," she observes. "You're the one who left me, Fern. Not the other way around," Warren points out. "How's 'One', by the way?" The one she went back to after him. He shrugs, "What do you want me to say? Things are fine. They're boring. I do nothing but go to work and come back and make some attempt at some sort of social life that people expect of me. Yeah, my life is just peachy keen. How are you?" He looks over at the house that she just came from, "Moving up in the world?" Fern doesn't show any change in demeanor as Warren gets his digs in, but if he's trying to see if she still has a temper he's on the right track. She ignores the first question, even stands through the poor little rich boy dialog, but the insinuation of his last words break her reserve. And hey, why should she grovel to him now when she didn't before? Her lips press together, blue eyes flaring, and she takes a step forward, "Stop it. You have more opportunity than anyone else I know, and this is what you do with it? Act petulant and nasty?" Another step forward almost puts her in chest-poking range. "I happen to know people all over this city, and I was dropping off some cannoli for a friend." He isn't about to poke her in the chest, but he does glance around to see who might be watching this scene-in-the-making. "Stop what? What do you want me to be doing, Fern? I'm doing what any normal person does. It's been made quite clear that I'm nothing special so I'm doing my best to just be...normal." With wings. "What do you want? Nothing I could ever do could please you no matter how hard I tried." And he's still hurting from that. The anger fades from Fern's face, not disappearing entirely, but she sighs, "Really, Warren? You think you're nothing special and that you never made me happy?" She shakes her head, finally addressing a previous question. "I don't know how he is. We haven't talked in quite a while." There's no particular inflection of what sort of terms they were on, her tone and expression are neutral. Until she sighs again, turning and stepping toward the fencing that separates yard from sidewalk, then turning back abruptly, frustrated, "You deserved better than to be dating someone who didn't even know her own feelings entirely. And I had to figure them out." "You were the only person who has ever been interested in me that has a brain in her head and an ounce of sense in her body and who wasn't after me for my money," Warren answers as if that even works for her question. "I hope you've figured things out and that you're happy." "I did, and I am," Fern replies, taking his words at face value. "I was even home for a bit, and it was good to get reconnected with where I'm from." There's no embellishment on why she was home. Her eyes soften as does her voice. "I'm sorry, Warren. I'm sorry that I hurt you." Angel is quiet for a long moment before he just nods in response to her affirmation that she's happy. At the apology he just inclines his head, "Yeah, well...you haven't been the only one. You were just the start of the trend. I'm glad you're happy." He might be, but no one could ever say that Warren was a graceful loser. "I'm sorry if I've kept you from your day." Fern doesn't look at all eased by news that things haven't been great, apparently, for Warren. She looks at him levelly for a moment, asking before he can step around her, or take to the air, "Are you happy, Warren?" There's a pause, and she adds, "I don't have anything to do that's keeping me to a schedule today." There's another sigh, "Doesn't it really matter if I am or not, Fern?" That seems to be Warren's answer rather than admit things to himself. "Well, at least you delivered the cannolis before they could spoil then." He shifts the bags from one hand to the other, rather glad of the sunglasses. That way, he doesn't have to look directly at her. "Yes, it does matter, Warren. I don't hate you, and whether you believe it or not, I haven't stopped caring about you." Fern fidgets a moment, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag that hangs behind her. "If I'm not the last person you want to talk to, I am here if you need someone to listen." She looks up, squinting into sunglasses that reflect the bright light, perhaps a little apprehensive of his dismissal. "I don't think it would be a good idea, Fern. I wouldn't want to get my hopes up, you know. It's just easier if my expectations are kept low...then I won't be disappointed anymore." Yes, the sunglasses are definitely staying on. She's also very close and it makes his eyes cross having to focus when things aren't far enough away. "I appreciate the sentiment." Fern sighs softly, "If that's what you want, Warren." Her eyes drop, glancing at the feathers over his shoulder. "You know if we can't even be simply friends, there's no chance we could have had anything else. I need to be friends with the person I care about most." She moves to step around him, to continue past him and on her way to the nearby subway station. Angel sighs as Fern passes, "I thought we were, Fern. I thought we were." He's not going to run after her, but he can't help but watch her as she walks past him. His free hand lifts to scrub through his hair and he also finally lifts the sunglasses to rub at his eyes. This was just not what he needed today; he's running out of scotch. Category:Log